The Train Murder and Josie
by vilya
Summary: One sassy detective thinks she's better than Holmes. Let's see. Chapter 3 and 4 are UP! YAY!
1. Meet Josie

The engineer's daughter, Hallie, looked out the window of the steam train. She wore pants and a blouse, which was unsuitable for a lady of her age and rank. All in all, she was glad to be leaving the dull countryside behind. At the same time, Hallie was leaving her stalker behind.  
  
He would come in to her room at night, unbutton her nightdress, and kiss her till she woke, screaming. Now, Hallie would be safe 100 miles away.  
  
"Excuse me," a man with an obviously disguised voice asked at her compartment door. "But, is there a Hallie Kensington here?"  
  
Hallie shivered and attempted not to show fear to the masked man. "I am her."  
  
The man pulled something shiny from his belt. A knife. He plunged it into her neck before she had time to scream. Hallie's last thoughts were : "The stalker."  
  
------------------------------later that day--------------------------------  
  
Detective Josie Marsh was on the case. "I want all details."  
  
The policeman took a breath before starting. " Name: Hallie Kensinton, daughter of engineer, Richard Kensington. She was seventeen and quite pretty by today's standards."  
  
Josie interrupted. "Physical description please."  
  
"Blond hair, green eyes, 5 foot 11, 134.2 pounds."  
  
"Neighborhood."  
  
"Countryside. She lived with her father, but after continuous complaint of a stalker who would… well, you don't need to know that. Well, after complaints, her father decided to ship her off to her aunt's house."  
  
Josie whistled. "Poor kid. Sorry, sir, continue."  
  
The policeman nodded. "There is no mother, but a butler who had easy access to Hallie's room. There are no other homesteads within the next twenty miles."  
  
Josie nodded thoughtfully and pushed a strand of curly black hair behind her ear. "I know she was murdered on the train with a knife, a well-made one with an ivory handle. There was no company name so it must have been custom made."  
  
"Yes'm."  
  
"I'm going to check the place out." Josie said as she banged her fist upon the table.  
  
---------------------------the next day------------------------  
  
Josie had a thorough investigation of the house and was on a stroll about the grounds when she came upon an old barn.  
  
Of course, it was locked, but every good detective is able to pick a lock with a hair pin. Once inside, she looked about. One stack of hay seemed quite trampled on, as if people frequently climbed over it.  
  
Josie followed the trail, her hazel eyes watchful. "Strange." She muttered to herself.  
  
Suddenly, the trail just ended. There was no place it could go.  
  
Josie had no idea what to do. She was thoroughly puzzled, which is hard for a detective to do. Tentatively, she took a step forward. Then another.  
  
The ground gave way, and with a shower of hay, Josie fell nearly two stories before she hit ground. It was then that she lost consciousness. Had she not, she would have heard the low chuckle and the "What have we here?"  
  
Now, it was a case for Sherlock Holmes. 


	2. Holmes on the Case

Disclaimer: None of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's characters belong to me.  
  
Note: The murder occurs in what seems to be a modern American and 1800s mix, so bear with me.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
(from the files of Dr. Watson)  
  
It was a cold miserable day out. Nothing much to do but sit inside and watch Holmes inject himself full of drugs, which I greatly despise. "He'll kill himself one day." I would say to myself.  
  
A sudden knock came at the door.  
  
Holmes, groggy from his last injection waved at the door as if it would magically open.  
  
"Do come in." I said finally, after some of Holmes's infernal waving had annoyed me.  
  
The fellow was shy and anxious. He was young, somewhere in his twenties I would guess. His coat was torn a bit, as if it had gotten caught in the carriage door, and his hair was full of cowlicks. "I a-am h-h-here for a… Mr. Sh-sherlock Holmes." He said after some awkward silence.  
  
Despite his cocaine, Holmes eyes moved over the young man making his usual observations. "That is I."  
  
"Y-yes well… I come from."  
  
"Somewhere in the country I expect. You have a train station nearby, and your grandfather was a world-renowned traveler. You have a maid who almost always misplaces your hat, forcing you to go out in the rain, where water runs into your eyes, and you are accustom to slamming your coat sleeve in the carriage door. Let me say that you are left-handed."  
  
The young man stood there, his mouth agape. I chuckled to myself, though I myself was impressed with Holmes's deductions.  
  
"Y-yes." The man said. "I'm here to ask Mr. Holmes's help on the murder case of Ms. Hallie Kensington."  
  
"The engineer's daughter?" Holmes inquired.  
  
"The same. By the way, how did you know…"  
  
"From the red slips of paper in your front coat pocket, I would say you already have train tickets for myself and Dr. Watson." Holmes interrupted.  
  
"And myself." The man said with a nod. "For tomorrow morning at 8 o'clock sharp."  
  
"We shall be there by fifteen till the hour. This should be a most interesting case. Good day, sir."  
  
Of course, the man could say nothing else so politely left.  
  
"Holmes," said I "I would like to know how you made those deductions."  
  
"Elementary. He lives in the country both by the make of his shoes and the hay that is stuck in his sock. There was some loose bits of coal from a train on his color and smudges on his hands, therefore a train station."  
  
"Yes but the maid…"  
  
"Did you not see his many cowlicks? That comes from a hat, Watson. It shows he fancies wearing one, and the fact that he doesn't have one is an oddity for him. Strained eyes show that he has been out in the rain a bit too much without a hat."  
  
"And his left hand?"  
  
"When you push open the door to a carriage, you use your right hand, so the sleeve that would get caught would be your left. But this fellow's right sleeve was torn, suggesting his left-handedness, and judging by his expression, I was correct."  
  
We left the next morning and learned that the fellow's name was Henry Kelp. 


	3. Return to the Barn

Chapter 3  
  
I repeat my disclaimer.  
  
Josie regained consciousness to find herself bound in the woods. Whether she was near of far from the estate she could not tell. The air was thick and terrible-smelling. A pillar of smoke was rising from not too far away.  
  
"What the-?" Josie heard a voice say. "What are you doing here, lassie?" The man had a Scottish accent, his face was grubby. "Let's get you untied and cleaned up."  
  
He cut her bonds.  
  
"M'name's Gordon. Gordon MacIllroy. I'm the gardener of the Longfellows." "Lonfellows?" Josie sat in the man's small shack sipping tea and rubbing her sores from the cruel ropes.  
  
"Yes'm. They live a-tween the Jacobs and the Kensingtons. By the by, you heard what happened to Mr. Kensington's daughter? Terrible. Terrible thing it was."  
  
"Wait. You said Kensingtons?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So, I'm not too far from there, then?"  
  
"Only about ten miles."  
  
Josie looked at him. "Is there any way that you can bring me back there?"  
  
Gordon started. "I- uh- Yes."  
  
Ten minutes later, they were going at a fine clip down the country road in a small cart.  
  
"There, t'is, Ms. Josie- The Kensington's estate."  
  
So it was.  
  
"Ms. Marsh! Oh thank goodness! Where have you been?" a maid ran out to her, her pudgy sides heaving. "We were getting worried."  
  
"I was just having a look about."  
  
It was back to business, but Josie swore to herself that she would not be captured again. She could have been raped or murdered. She had been infinitely fortunate that Gordon had felt like walking that day.  
  
Josie had walked about the estate a few times pondering. There were tracks yes, but they were so mingled with one another that it was purely impossible to tell which ones went where.  
  
She was expecting a package for her. Any day, hopefully. That knife with the ivory handle was to be in it. Possibly then, she could get some answers. "What's this?" Josie exclaimed. She kneeled upon the ground, examining some fresh foot prints on the earth. "Hmmm. Could be a new lead. Then again, it might just be the gardener."  
  
Carefully, Josie walked beside them. There was no excuse to destroying evidence if it couldn't be helped.  
  
"Ms. Marsh! Ms. Marsh!" the servant of the house cried. "Please come at once!" He was excited over something, though Josie could not see what.  
  
"Please, sir. Not now." She followed the prints through the bramble. It was difficult, but manageable.  
  
"Miss, please. Mr. Holmes is here, and he dearly wishes to speak with you as you have been on the estate quite a bit longer than he.  
  
Josie whirled with a startled snarl. "Holmes? You sent for HOLMES?!!!?" The servant cringed. "W-well, yes. ac-actually."  
  
"Thinking I couldn't handle it on my OWN? That no task could be completed without a MAN!?!?!?!?" Josie shouted furiously.  
  
"N-no. No."  
  
"Well, Mr. Holmes can WAIT TILL HELL FREEZES OVER! GOD DAMN THIS MASCULINE SOCIETY!!!!!!"  
  
The servant scampered back towards the house, leaving Josie to boil in her frustration, hurt-pride, and hate.  
  
  
  
  
  
Holmes was looking about, his eye straying into corners and keyholes. "This house is hiding something, Watson." He remarked to me.  
  
A servant rushed in. "M-M-Mister Kensington, sh-she is not in the best of s-s-sorts at the moment, and I'm af-afraid that she takes th-this as an in-insult."  
  
"Oh, dear." Mr. Kesington put his hand to his forehead.  
  
"Possibly, I should speak with her." Holmes offered.  
  
"No, sir." Mr. Kensington replied wearily. "She's a pistol- that one is- once she's lost her temper, she'll have to cool down before reasoning."  
  
"I appreciate such an energy." Holmes, nonetheless, did as Mr. Kensington advised.  
  
As for my own part, I sat down in a warm armchair and watched Holmes scourge the room's secrets. Later, I would ask him of his deductions.  
  
Ms. Josie Marsh entered the room quite ill-humored. The door slammed heavily behind her. Like fire, her hazel eyes were as they stared out from her jet hair. A scowl so incredibly bitter removed any feminine qualities from her face.  
  
"Ah, Ms. Marsh." Holmes stood from his chair. "Pray, come join us."  
  
"Frankly, Mr. Holmes, I'd rather not. My business is much too important, you see, so I must be on my way."  
  
I watched as Mr. Holmes smiled. "Yes, but you see, we are here on common business. Therefore, I would appreciate any information you could give me."  
  
"Find it out for yourself, if you're so great!" With that, Ms. Marsh whirled about and slammed the door upon her exiting.  
  
Holmes paused for a moment. "Come, Watson!" he called to me. "She's on to something!"  
  
"You approve of her then?"  
  
"Of course. Her mind works like a mousetrap."  
  
We followed her sprinting figure through the trees to an old, decrepit barn.  
  
"Indeed, Watson. She was on to something, and if I'm not mistaken," he looked at the tracks on the ground "she has been here before."  
  
Steathily we followed her though the hay and down a steep ladder. Whereupon, she paused.  
  
She began muttering to herself. "No. No. Not much here. I'm wasting time."  
  
Her head was bent in thought. I could nearly see the gears of her mind grinding furiously. "Gordon. It couldn't have been mere coincidence. He must know something." She started right towards us.  
  
Holmes stepped in front of her. "First, Ms. Josie, I'd like to know your mind." 


	4. Of Gardeners and Sneaks

Chapter 4  
  
I repeat my disclaimer.  
  
Josie socked Holmes in the eye, which was the last thing he or I was expecting. "Let me be!" she cried as she clambered up the ladder to the barn above.  
  
I must say that I was pleased to be out of that infernal stuffy chamber beneath the barn, although I had the unpleasant feeling that we'd be going there again before this was all over. Holmed chased her through one, two, three open fields before tackling her. Even as he pinned her down, she still fought like an animal.  
  
"Speak, lass!" Holmes puffed.  
  
Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were angered. "This. is my.. Investigation."  
  
"And mine. I was invited to help you. Now, if you don't mind, please, tell me all that has happened."  
  
I saw her cheeks redden like some poor lass that has committed adultery. Some deep embarrassing shame was beaming through her shrewd mind. "I DO MIND!" she cried as she kneed poor Holmes in the groin, a tactic no man would dare pull on another man.  
  
Holmes fell over in pain as Ms. Marsh scampered away and into the woods.  
  
I rushed to Holmes's side.  
  
"It's alright, Watson." Holmes gasped with a laugh. "I should have known that vixen would still have something up her sleeve. We must either ask what lies in that direction, or follow her."  
  
"Seemingly, it would be much safer for our health if we were to merely ask and follow later on."  
  
"No, Watson. We must take the bull by the horns. If we give in now, she'll know she can always get what she wants. Come, come!"  
  
Once again, we raced after her as a hound races after a fox. I lagged a bit, being less fit than Holmes.  
  
Holmes slackened his pace as we came upon an old beat-up garden house. "Gordon! Gordon! It's Josie!" There she was, the fox, pounding on some poor innocent man's door.  
  
The door opened. A tall Scottish man appeared from inside. "Ah, hello there! What are you doing here?"  
  
Holmes watched curiously. "He's nervous, Watson. Very nervous to see her here."  
  
"Really, after all the work it took to bring you back home, and you've come back here!"  
  
"I just wanted to ask what brought you to my rescue."  
  
"I. er. wanted a breath of. that is. the seeds needed planting. no. I mean. I was looking for something."  
  
Josie leaned towards him eagerly. "Say- me?"  
  
The poor man was visibly hesitating. "Uh. no. I had lost my watch."  
  
Josie laughed. "My dear Gordon, you don't wear a watch, for your wrists show no sign of one."  
  
"What did I tell you, Watson?" Holmes whispered to me. "She's a crafty one, she is."  
  
"Gordon! Gordon!" A man's voice was calling.  
  
"Please, Ms. Josie. Go! Now!" Gordon pleaded. "If they find out- you have no idea. Go!"  
  
Josie planted her feet. "I will not! Not until you tell me!"  
  
"I can't." The poor man looked helpless.  
  
"Gordon! God dammit!"  
  
"I pity the man, Holmes." Said I.  
  
"I as well." He answered.  
  
A young man entered our line of vision. He visibly started at seeing Josie. "Gordon? What is this," his voice dripped with venom. "charming young woman doing with you."  
  
"She was asking for."  
  
"I wanted to know a secret for planting pumpkins. I do love pumpkin pie." Josie answered.  
  
The man's muscles relaxed. "But- Ah, it doesn't matter. I just wish that men wouldn't meddle in business that isn't their own." The young man looked pointedly at the guilty Gordon. "I am Nathaniel Longfellow. My father owns this estate. You are Ms. Josie Marsh?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Mr. Kensington has told us about you and how you are helping him with his. mystery."  
  
"Strange how everyone knows everything out here." Josie's voice cut like an icy blade.  
  
"It is not often that witty women wander into our midst." Nathaniel bowed. "The last one was Ms. Hallie, and a dreadful end came to her."  
  
Josie raised an eyebrow catching the deadly innuendo that had made Holmes and myself step back. "I thank you for your time, Mr. Longfellow." She turned about and made her way thoughtfully back to the Kensington estate.  
  
We followed.  
  
In the dining room of the house, we found her bent over in thought. I must admit, that her stance resembled Holmes's thoughtful one.  
  
"Ms. Marsh?" I politely asked.  
  
"You were following me." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
"Yes. We were." Holmes stated. "Now, maybe you had better tell us what happened."  
  
"I think not. This is my affair. I can handle this Nathaniel Longfellow."  
  
"How, may I ask?"  
  
Ms. Josie smirked. "All men have at least one weakness." She looked at us. "Seduction."  
  
"Ms. Marsh. That is hardly professional." Holmes remarked disapprovingly. "Have you any better tactic, Mr. Holmes?"  
  
Of course neither of us had one.  
  
"I still believe it to be better if you should tell us the course of events." Holmes growled.  
  
She merely smiled at us as she made her way to her room. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get ready for a date with a certain Mr. Nathaniel Longfellow."  
  
Thankfully, the lass never had to go that far into the world of Mr. Longfellow, though it was rather a frightening experience for us all. 


End file.
